"Your Highness," Cecil began, his voice muffled by his grey cloth mask, "regarding your inquiry … my sources have confirmed she is not in Parisine. In fact, her current whereabouts are entirely unknown. She departed from the Parisine capital as we expected, but somewhere along the long journey, she seems to have vanished. I have had agents discreetly check every inn, every carriage house, every remote outpost along the main route. It is as if she disappeared into thin air."
Dominic's expression didn't change. This wasn't a surprise, but a grim confirmation of the suspicion that had for a while now. "So, that woman is already in my palace," he stated, his voice flat. "Search some more, Cecil. I want to be sure of where she truly is. I want to know who sent her."
"It will be done, Your Highness," Cecil affirmed.
As Cecil turned to leave, Dominic's voice stopped him. "Wait. You said you watched the duel?"
"Yes, Your Highness. From the shadows beneath the viewing platform."
"Your eyes are sharper than most," Dominic said, a hint of respect in his tone. "You are trained to see what others miss. What did you notice about her fighting style? Tell me your assessment, not as a viewer, but as an expert."
Cecil paused, his dark eyes thoughtful. "She fought like a cornered cat, Your Highness. All her movements looked clumsy, reactive, and desperate. A true novice, when faced with Recruit Joran's aggression, would have overcommitted their defense on the first or second blow, lost their balance completely, and would have been struck down in the first ten seconds. She, however, never truly lost her center of gravity, even when she 'stumbled.' She conserved her energy, letting him tire himself out. But the most telling detail… it was her grip on the daggers."
Dominic's focus sharpened. "Her grip?"
"Yes," Cecil confirmed. "She held those daggers in a reverse grip, with the blades facing outward along her forearms, a common style for knife-fighters. A common street brawler or a soldier with rudimentary dagger training might hold them that way, but clumsily. Her grip was different. The way her thumbs were braced against the crossguards, the subtle way she angled the blades to parry and deflect rather than block head-on… that is not the grip of an amateur who has had a few passing lessons from a friendly guard captain. That is the instinctive grip of a highly trained professional, someone taught to kill efficiently and brutally in close quarters."
Dominic nodded slowly, a dark satisfaction settling in his gut. His instincts had been right. "That's all I needed to know," he said. "You may go now, Cecil. Continue your search and begin a quiet, deep investigation into the background of Lady Viviana. I want to know her real name, her origins, anything you can find on her."
Cecil bowed low and then, with a whisper of movement, vanished as if he had never been there.
Dominic walked over to the sparring circle, his eyes scanning the dusty ground. There, half-hidden by a scuffed patch of dirt, lay one of the twin daggers, likely dropped when Viviana had been helped up. He bent and picked it up. It was a wicked thing – light, perfectly balanced, its edge honed to a razor sharpness. He tested its weight, his fingers tracing the worn leather of the hilt. "I will find out what you are truly hiding, Lady Viviana,'" he murmured to the empty arena, his voice a low, dangerous promise. "And I will make you deeply regret ever setting foot in my kingdom."
——————————
Lilliana fussed over Viviana, who sat patiently on a plush armchair while the princess dabbed uselessly at her now expertly bandaged arm with a cool, damp cloth.
"Does it still hurt, Vi?" Lilliana asked for the tenth time, her face a mask of guilt and concern. "It looks so red and angry around the edges. Perhaps we should call Doctor Rye back. He might have a special salve for sword cuts."
"Lily, it is truly alright, I promise you," Viviana said, her voice gentle and reassuring. "It's a scratch. A very shallow one. It stings a little, but that is all." It's nothing, she thought, a private, weary amusement touching her. I have had far worse from a misplaced training blade during drills in the Abyss. I have scars in places she will never see that tells far more painful stories than this little red line on my arm.
"But it's not okay, Vi! It's all my fault!" Lilliana insisted, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "I opened my big, stupid mouth and forced you into that horrible, barbaric situation. He's a monster, Vi, a cruel, cold-hearted monster, and I made him hurt you! I am so sorry!"
"Shhh, it's fine," Viviana said, taking the cloth from Lilliana's hand. "It is done now. There is no point in dwelling on it. In your own way, you were defending my honor. It was brave, if perhaps a little reckless." She managed a small, tired smile. "Let us speak of it no more."
Just then, a soft knock came at the door. The maid, Elara, entered with a deep curtsy. "Your Highness, forgive the intrusion. Her Majesty, the Queen Regent, requests your presence in her private garden. She wishes to discuss… the details of last night's banquet, and to review the preparations for the coming days."
Lilliana sighed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Of course. It seems a princess's work is never done. Tell Her Majesty I will be there shortly." The maid curtsied again and departed. Lilliana turned to Viviana, her expression one of grim resignation. "I suppose I must go."
"Be strong, Lily," Viviana encouraged her.
Lilliana squared her shoulders, nodded, and, after instructing her maids to help her change into a more suitable gown, left the chamber, leaving Viviana blissfully alone.
The moment the door clicked shut, Viviana's warm, comforting demeanor vanished, replaced by a cool, focused alertness. Her brief respite was over. She moved from Lilliana's opulent room into her own adjoining chamber, her steps silent and purposeful. She did a quick, routine check of her surroundings – a glance at the lock, a subtle check of a fine thread she had placed on the lid of her travel trunk, a sweep of her gaze over the room's shadows. Everything seemed undisturbed.
But as she turned from the trunk, her eyes caught something that made her heart give a single, hard thump. Tucked with almost impossible accuracy, deep within the tightly woven threads of the heavy Eldorian tapestry that adorned the wall beside her bed, was a tiny, tightly rolled dark paper, no bigger than her little finger.
Her fingers, nimble and steady, carefully worked the small scroll free from the tapestry's weave. She moved to the center of the room, far from any windows or doors, and unrolled it. The script was the familiar, elegant hand of her guild master, Talon.
The message was brief and direct:
"Your first target: General Tiberius Vorlag. Use his known weaknesses against him. He is arrogant, proud, and notoriously promiscuous. He frequents a high-end, discreet pleasure house known as 'House of desires.' He will be there tonight, in the private chambers on the top floor known as 'The Falcon's Eyrie,' to celebrate his return from his long border inspection. This will be your only chance to strike while he is distracted, inebriated, and his personal guard is reduced. Use force only if subtlety fails. Leave no trace of your involvement. The usual rules apply. -Talon"
Viviana read the note twice, her expression hardening into a mask of cold professionalism. General Tiberius Vorlag. Lord Theodore's father's right hand man and the man who killed mama Emma. A man known for his military prowess and his harsh, traditionalist views. A key supporter of the Eldorian crown. Removing him would indeed cause a significant ripple and avenge Mama Emma's death.
She immediately knew it was a valid order from Talon, but one question, sharp and insistent, bugged her mind. She took the note to the small, cold fireplace, held it with a tiny pair of tweezers from her hidden kit, and touched it to the flint-spark she created. As she watched the paper curl, blacken, and turn to ash, the question echoed in her thoughts.
"House Of Desires. A precise location, a specific room, and the timing down to the very night. This information is fresh, immediate, something that could only be known by someone here, in the capital, with access to high-level intelligence. Talon is leagues away in the Abyss. This message wasn't sent by any courier. It was delivered by hand, by someone who knew how to bypass the palace guards and my own awareness. Which means…" Her eyes narrowed. "...is there another Abyssian here, in this palace?